


You've Got Mail

by paceyjay



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paceyjay/pseuds/paceyjay
Summary: “Welcome! You’ve got mail.”Patrick smiled to himself, his heart skipping a beat as it seemed to do every time he heard those words these days.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 55
Kudos: 289





	You've Got Mail

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! How are we feeling post-finale?
> 
> I've been working on this for a while in the hopes of getting it out not long after the series ended to hopefully lift some spirits. I don't know about you, but I need fic more than ever right now.
> 
> It's Toronto, it's the 90s, it's everyone's favorite characters, it's a rom-com! Enjoy!

_“Welcome! You’ve got mail.”_

Patrick smiled to himself, his heart skipping a beat as it seemed to do every time he heard those words these days. 

“You’ve got mail!” he heard Rachel mock from the bathroom where she was throwing her hair into a ponytail. She walked out a moment later smoothing her black pencil skirt against her thighs. “Our physical mailboxes don’t need to audibly announce it when we open them, so why do our cyber-mailboxes need to?”

Patrick shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think it’s kind of fun.”

Rachel swiped a pair of earrings off her dresser, hooking the small golden hoops through one ear, then the other. “Fun, or annoying.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. “You look nice.”

“Big meeting today, remember?”

“Of course.” His face gave nothing away as he racked his brain for what she could be talking about. He very vaguely thought he recalled her possibly mentioning something about a meeting last week, but at the time he had been reading an email, an email much like the one that was waiting to be clicked on right now, right in front of him… so there was a good chance that he hadn’t been giving her his full attention.

“I mean I know they’ve already agreed to work with me, but still, I want to continue to make a good impression.”

“Definitely. You definitely will.”

“Alright, I’m out of here,” she announced, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Can you pick up something for dinner on your way home?”

“You got it.” Patrick rested his hand on her waist as she leaned in to kiss him. “Good luck, you’re gonna kill it.”

“Always do!”

He clicked on the email as soon as he heard the door close behind her.

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _Is it just me, or does the air just smell better in the fall? There’s probably a disgusting scientific reason for that, like there’s less city rats dropping dead in the fall or something. Whatever it is, I don’t want to know - fall air is absolutely the crispest and cleanest and that’s all that matters._
> 
> _(I just feel the need to say that I’m not someone who typically talks to people on the internet. I realize that you and I are both talking to a stranger on the internet right now, but trust me, I’m not one of those people, you know?)_
> 
> _Okay, anyways, as I was saying- Yes, I will wholeheartedly agree with you that fall is the best season, and not just because of the scent, and not just because I tend to wear sweaters no matter the temperature and that can sometimes be punishing in the dead of summer. Truthfully, I haven’t lived in Toronto long, so whether or not the city has the best fall of all the places I’ve lived is to be determined._
> 
> _Am I seriously having a meaningful conversation about weather? I’m a little creeped out by how easy you are to talk to… of course, that could be because I’m typing rather than talking which means no one is able to interrupt my ramblings, but I’m just saying that if most people struck up a conversation about weather with me, I would walk away without even attempting to hide my boredom. So kudos to you, Brewski317._
> 
> _By the way, I feel like we’ve known each other long enough now that I can ask about that screenname. Brewski???? That is the most frat-dude name I’ve ever heard. You’re totally a frat guy, aren’t you? Just throwin’ back the brewskis with your boys. Admit it, bro._
> 
> _Since we agreed to no names, I’ve been calling you Brewski in my head all this time and to be honest, it’s really grossing me out. From now on, you’ll just be known as B. So I guess that means you can call me A? Or a fun little pet name like gorgeous, prince, queen, light of my life, etc. The choice is yours._

Patrick got to the end of the message and immediately scrolled back to the top to read it again, his cheeks sore from the grin that was spread across his face. He glanced at his watch after his second read through, confirming that he had enough time to type back a response before leaving for work. He chewed his lip, mulling over where to begin, but once he started his fingers flew over the keys without stopping, the clack-clack-clack a soothing melody.

\---

“Good morning, boss,” Stevie said with a scowl as she walked into David’s office.

David looked up from his computer. “I will never get tired of you calling me that,” he said smugly.

“I was tired of calling you that after the first time,” Stevie mumbled, barely audible over the screeching of the connecting dial-up. She took a seat across from him and opened up her notebook. “Okay, lots of store updates. You ready?”

Stevie launched into her briefing without waiting for David’s response, ignoring the computer’s words, words that David definitely could not ignore.

“ _Welcome! You’ve got mail.”_

David scraped his teeth over his upper lip, attempting to keep his excitement underwraps as he clicked hurriedly on the message.

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Coincidentally, I also don’t usually talk to strangers online. But I wasn’t going to bring it up because now that we have, we have to acknowledge the fact that it seems like we’re both very much those people who talk to strangers online… see what you’ve done?!_
> 
> _Okay, I’m going to forget that we talked about that and just continue to pretend that we’re old friends so I feel less like a weirdo. If you like fall, I can personally guarantee that you will love fall in Toronto. I completely know what you’re saying about the smell, although I’m not sure it can be chalked up to the health of the city’s rat population. Where were you living before, by the way? Wherever it was, I’m sure it doesn’t hold a candle to this place._
> 
> _I may or may not have been in a fraternity. No comment. What do you have against beer??_
> 
> _And for the record, I get embarrassingly excited when I see I’ve got a message from you, even if it’s about something as mundane as the weather. I’ll just leave you with that. Bro._

“The shelves will be late because the wood was infested with insects or something.”

“Mhm,” David said mindlessly, eyes still glued to the computer screen. _Bro_. This guy would be the death of him.

“But I told them to send it here anyway, I said I was sure you’d be fine with dealing with the bugs yourself.”

“Okay.” Brewski - ugh, ew, no, _B_ \- seemed normal, and yet was apparently just as invested in these futile emails as David was. That was reassuring.

“David!” Steve shouted, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He swatted her hand away. “What?!”

“You’re totally not listening! Believe it or not, sometimes the things I’m saying are actually important.”

“Very rarely, I’d say.”

“Your lack of appreciation for me is heartwarming.” She snapped her notebook shut and kicked her feet up on his desk, ankles crossed. “So? What’s so distracting this morning?”

“Okay. I have to tell you something.” David laid his palms flat on his desk, a smirk creeping onto his face. “I think I’m in love.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “David, how many times do I have to tell you that just because you and Sebastien have mind-blowing sex does _not_ mean you’re in love with him.”

“Ew. Okay, first of all, I have never referred to it as mind-blowing.” He paused, thinking back to their last sexual endeavor which went on for four hours and involved both sushi and chocolate. “Exceptional, yes, but definitely not mind-blowing. And second, I’m not talking about Sebastien.”

“You guys broke up again?”

“No.”

“But you’re seeing someone else?”

“Technically, no.”

Steve raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Well? Do I have to keep guessing or are you going to fill me in?”

David took a deep breath. “I have been talking to this guy online for a while now and he’s just-”

“Ah, okay, now it’s making more sense,” she nodded, lips pulled tight, looking especially self-satisfied.

David shook his head, catching her tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You would never use the words ‘in love’ to describe your feelings towards an actual person. So it just makes sense, that’s all.”

And that… okay, that was fair. He couldn’t actually recall ever saying the phrase ‘I love you’ to another person other than once to his parents when he was a kid, and they’d rushed out the door without saying it back so maybe there was a deep dark depressing reason that he never said them - but anyway, this was different.

“Um, he _is_ an actual person.”

“You’re in love with the _idea_ of this person whom you’ve never met or seen.”

“Okay, maybe ‘in love’ was a little hyperbolic but he’s more than just an idea, it’s not like he’s an imaginary friend,” he retorted, feeling very defensive.

“Might as well be. How do you know anything he’s saying is true? He could be a creepy old man that just got out of prison for the murder of his wife.”

David threw up his hands in exasperation. He found Stevie’s negativity and judgment very annoying, to say the least, but he also started to wonder… what were the chances that this guy was being honest about everything? He could definitely be someone completely different. But no, no, he had no reason to lie to David. All he was getting out of the relationship was David’s very biased and largely unhelpful reviews of movies and music and restaurants. An internet creep would’ve certainly moved on to someone better by now.

“I’m sorry. I’m bad at being supportive.” Stevie’s eyes darted to the side as she put on a phony smile. “I meant- yay, congrats! Do you think you’ll meet each other before the wedding or just do the ceremony and reveal all in one?”

“Forget it. See if I ever give you love life gossip again,” David scowled, pushing any doubts out of his head. The bottom line was he trusted B, and that was that. “Are we still on track to open October 1st?”

“Like I was saying, the shelves for the movies and CDs are here and set up, the ones for the records are going to be late but are still set to arrive with plenty of time to get them up before the grand opening so yes, we’re on schedule.”

“Good. We should put up a sign to let everyone know we’re here. Something big and flashy that will piss everyone off but also intrigue them enough to make them want to come in.” He leaned back in his chair, envisioning the monstrosity. “’Rose Media: A one-stop shop for all your media needs.’” 

“Big, ridiculous sign ASAP,” Stevie said as she jotted it down. “How many protestors do you think we’ll get?”

“They won’t last long. My dad called this morning to say they put another record store in New York out of business. That’s three already and the store’s been open, what, a few months? I’m not really worried about what the people of Toronto have in store for us.”

“Speaking of that, Eric looked into our local competition. A few places but one that’s close, just a couple blocks away, called, ugh, what was it?” She flipped back through her pages, searching for the name. “Something stupid… aha! The Shop Around the Corner.” 

“Mm, poor thing,” David mocked with a frown. “Should we send them a nice fruit basket now or wait until they’ve officially gone under?”

\----

Patrick took one last deep breath of the fresh air before entering his store, the bell chiming above him. The store was empty save for his employee Ronnie, who looked up to offer a greeting but went back to work when she saw it was only Patrick.

He approached her with an added spring in his step, fully aware that his good mood would likely get on her nerves. “Gotta love Toronto in the fall, huh, Ronnie?”

“I guess…”

“Starting to feel that little chill in the air, the leaves are starting to turn. It’s magical.”

“What the hell’s got you so chipper?” she asked, finally looking up from the vinyls she was sorting. 

“Nothing. Can’t I just be excited about the weather?”

“No. No one gets this excited over weather.” Ronnie leaned back against the shelf behind her, folding her arms across her chest and looking Patrick up and down before eyeing him knowingly. “You met someone.”

“What? No I didn’t,” Patrick said quickly, his cheerful disposition faltering. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got that dopey in love look about you.”

“‘Kay, Ronnie, did you forget I’ve had a girlfriend for the last how many years?”

“Mhm. But this,” she gestured, referring to Patrick’s general state, “is not about her.”

Patrick huffed but didn’t dispute it. He had not anticipated this. He’d planned to use his wonderful mood to aggravate Ronnie, one of his favorite past times. She would call him a name, he would pretend to be hurt, she would roll her eyes and offer to do inventory in the back to escape him. She was _not_ supposed to look too closely at it and analyze him.

She exhaled loudly. “Well, If you’re cheating on her you better tell me now so I can help you figure out how to clean up your mess.”

“I’m not cheating on her, Ronnie.” He moved to his place behind the counter and opened the register, busying himself with pointlessly counting the cash before adding in a low voice, “I met someone online. And we’ve been emailing back and forth.”

“Ahh, there it is.”

“What?”

“Look at you. Your face is getting red and you look all nervous and weird.”

“I do not!” he insisted, but now that she’d mentioned it he felt his cheeks getting warm.

“So this is why you’ve been disturbingly happy for the past few weeks.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “That is not true.” He neglected to mention that that timeline definitely matched up to when he and A had started ramping their emails up to daily.

“You’ve been a lot more patient with Ray’s chattiness lately. You were fine with the fact that the electrician didn’t show up last week even though it was the third time he’d canceled. You didn’t even get mad when I beat you at bowling on Friday!”

“Okay, fine,” he interrupted, knowing that she wouldn’t let up and also knowing that she may have had a small point. “Maybe I am in a slightly better mood lately because I made a new friend.”

“Must be some friend,” Ronnie tittered. “Let me guess: she sent a picture and she’s a real looker.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and Ronnie laughed, shaking her head as she went back to work. And he could’ve just left it at that; Ronnie could assume he’d met some hot girl that he was shallowly infatuated with, and he could let her think that and go about life as usual. But now that he’d told her about A, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he should keep going - that he should tell her the truth. 

“Ronnie, can I tell you something?”

“I got myself in this deep, guess there’s no turning back now,” she said, but her expression was playful.

“This person that I’m talking to… it’s a guy.” He gave her a pointed look, hoping she’d understand what he was implying.

Ronnie studied him, and after a moment a smile crept onto her face. “Just when I was sure there wasn’t a single interesting thing about you. I did not see this coming, Brewer.”

“Me neither.” He let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “And obviously I’m with Rachel, so like I said, it’s innocent, and we don’t even know each other’s names, but… I’m just saying, like, maybe, maybe he does make me feel… differently than anyone else has made me feel. But I don’t know what that means. Does that make sense?”

She blinked at him. “You do know that I’m gay, right?”

“No, no idea,” Patrick said sarcastically. 

Ronnie was what Twyla affectionately called a serial dater, and she was never shy about bringing her girlfriend of the week to their work gatherings. The most memorable was an older woman named Gwen at the Christmas Party of ‘95. Gwen had also brought along her cousin who had just finished seminary school, and the two of them removed one too many articles of clothing and began gyrating on top of a table while Ronnie drank her beer and pretended not to see, elbowing Patrick as he tried and failed to stifle his laughter. Twyla had done a tarot card reading on her and later told Patrick that the cards said that Gwen had killed her husband, but Patrick really wasn’t sure how much stock he could put into that.

“So I’m the last person who’s going to judge you for realizing that you’ve been dating the wrong kind of people you’re whole life.”

“You think that’s true?”

“What do you think?”

Patrick didn’t know. He knew that before, his days had basically consisted of: wake up, go to work, go home, go to bed, repeat. Little excitement or eagerness, rarely anything that he truly looked forward to, no real highs and no real lows. Every day was just another day.

Now, however, he was constantly anxiously awaiting his next email, and when he wasn’t doing that he was going over past ones in his head, or wondering what A was up to now. When a random thought would cross his mind, he was immediately composing an email in his head to share it with the only person he wanted to tell, the only person who would care. 

He opened his mouth to give Ronnie an answer - what that answer would be, he wasn’t sure - but fortunately was interrupted by the ringing of the bell.

“Good morning!” Ray called as he walked through the door. “Beautiful autumn day, isn’t it?”

They watched him walk to the back, and Ronnie leaned across the counter. “What if it’s Ray?”

Patrick glared at her as she walked away cackling.

\---

Patrick’s freakishly good mood lasted exactly three more days and then was brought to a screeching halt when he turned the last corner on his morning commute and was assaulted by the sight of an enormous banner plastered on the side of a building.

 **ROSE MEDIA** **  
****For All Your Media Needs** **  
****-Movies - Rent or Buy!** **  
****-CDs** **  
****-Cassettes** **  
****-Records** **  
****COMING SOON!**

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He walked the few short strides to his own record store and stormed in, setting his coffee down on the counter with a little too much force.

“Hey, Patrick! Everything okay?”

“Hi, Twyla,” he returned the greeting gruffly. 

Ronnie used the newspaper she’d been reading to wipe up the droplets of coffee that had splattered. “Either your online boyfriend broke up with you or you saw it.”

Patrick sighed. “I saw it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Patrick,” Twyla said with a flick of her wrist. “Our customers are loyal.”

Ronnie didn’t look so sure. “Yeah, but Rose Media discounts. Heard their stores in the states are doing bad things for small businesses.”

“We’ll never be able to compete with their prices,” Ray said with a smile, peeking his head out from behind a shelf.

“But we have a personal touch that they’ll never have. How many of our customers know us by name? We send out hundreds of Christmas cards every year,” Patrick reminded them, attempting to reassure himself as much as his employees. “And the casual shoppers, how often do they comment on how nice and homey our store feels? How often do they praise our musical knowledge? Twyla’s right, we’re gonna be fine.”

“Also, I don’t think some of them actually know how much we charge,” Twyla added helpfully. “Mr. Frankfurt came in the other day and couldn’t really hear what I was saying or see the price tag, so he just handed me his wallet and told me to take however much I needed.”

Great. His business was reliant on his aged 80+ clientele who stopped in once a month when they ventured out of their homes to pick up their prescriptions. Perfect. 

\----

“Are you going to be able to compete with their prices?” Rachel asked as she sat down the newspaper, the large Rose Media ad glaring up at Patrick.

He’d arrived home ready to check his email and forget about Rose Media and the cloud it was casting on his business’s future, but Rachel had been waiting for him with a worried expression and a thousand questions that he didn’t have answers to.

“I don’t know,” he said, patience wearing thin. “But people will still come to support us.”

“And their selection, it’s probably going to be huge-”

“We’ll figure it out!”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll change the subject. So,” she said, picking mindlessly at her cuticles, and Patrick rubbed his temple, thinking about what exactly he meant by ‘we’ll figure it out.’ “I was talking to my mom and she was telling me about this gorgeous wedding that she and my dad went to last weekend, a friend of a friend’s daughter or something. Anyways, my mom said this venue was just unbelievable, so just out of curiosity she called to get prices and see how far out they were booked. Turns out they only had one date open in the next 3 years. So she put a deposit down.”

Rachel’s wide, expectant eyes told him he’d missed something important, and it took Patrick a minute to process what he’d just heard. A deposit. On a venue. For… 

“Wait, what?”

“Just in case, you know?”

He paused again, sure that he must have heard her wrong. “Rach, what are we talking about?”

“A wedding venue.”

“For who?”

“Us,” she said matter-of-factly, like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Patrick didn’t see how it was that obvious at all. “We’re not even engaged.”

He was pretty sure he would remember proposing to her. Although, with the increasing amount of pressure that had been put on him lately from Rachel, her parents, his parents, their friends from high school, it was entirely possible that he’d snapped and proposed and then blacked the whole thing out.

Because the thing was, he didn’t want to marry Rachel. He’d tried to convince himself that he did a thousand times. He’d broken up with her over it more than once, saying that they both deserved someone who made them feel _more_ , someone who truly made them happy, someone who made them feel bigger things than what they felt for each other. But every time, Rachel would tell him that didn’t exist; that this was how they were supposed to feel, it was how all couples felt. That this was as good as it got. Patrick hoped that wasn’t true. But each time, after spending a couple months apart and finding none of that magical love he was looking for, he went back to her, each time a little more convinced that maybe she was right.

“I know, but we know we’re going to end up getting married eventually, and now we have a beautiful place booked.”

He shook his head slowly, still not quite getting it. “So I guess we _are_ engaged?”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t need a big fancy proposal, Patrick. We both know we want to be together so yeah, I guess we’re engaged,” she said nonchalantly as she stood and moved to kiss his cheek. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going, meeting the girls for dinner and drinks. Love you.”

“Love you,” Patrick said softly after she’d closed the door, and he sat alone in his kitchen thinking about weddings and emails and Rose Media.

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Do you ever stop and think about how much you actually like your life? I feel like I go through the motions everyday and rarely consider if they’re motions that I actually want to go through. And now that I am taking the time to think about it, I’m realizing there’s a big difference between content and happy. What are you supposed to do when you come to the conclusion that you’re more the former than the latter? Kind of wishing I could just run away right now and start over._
> 
> _That was a rhetorical “what do I do now,” by the way. I don’t expect you to solve all my problems and hold the key to life. Just thinking out loud. Thanks for listening._

\---

“I’m here!” Alexis announced as David opened the door, bracelets jangling as she raised her arms in the air.

“I can see that. But why?”

“Um, we have a dinner date, David. Stevie promised me that she told you about it, like, twelve times.”

Right. David did vaguely recall Stevie saying something along the lines of, “ _Once again, I am reminding you that_ _Alexis is going to show up at your place Saturday for lunch; do not forget or she’ll be pissed at us both.”_

Right, right.

“I believe Stevie said we had a _lunch_ date,” he corrected, pretty sure he was successfully playing it off like he had remembered the whole time.

“Well, Stevie must have been mistaken. Or it’s possible that I forgot about it until twenty minutes ago.”

“You literally flew here to have lunch with me, and then you got here and forgot to have lunch with me?”

“Oh my god, David, let’s not, like, dwell on the details or whatever!”

“Fine,” he sighed like it was a bigger burden than it was - he hadn’t seen Alexis in a while and was actually looking forward to listening to her talk about her most recent excursions for a couple of hours. “Let me get my jacket.”

“Ew, why’s it so dark in here?” Alexis asked as she followed him into the apartment. “Can you not afford electricity?”

“You can clearly see that my computer is on so obviously I can afford electricity.”

“Oh my god, David, were you-” she finished her sentence by making a less-than-elegant gesture with her hand.

“Never do that again.”

They went to lunch at a Thai place, chosen by Alexis of course because she had just gotten back from Thailand and her body was ‘just, like, still trying to readjust to all the appalling North American food.’ Afterward, they took the long way back to David’s so that Alexis could get a feel for the city; apparently Keanu Reeves was considering moving there and had ‘basically pretty much almost definitely’ asked Alexis to join him.

“Oh my god!” Alexis shrieked suddenly, looking in the window of the record store they were passing and darting inside before David had the chance to stop her.

David looked up at the store’s name before reluctantly following her inside.

“What are we doing in here?” he asked, voice low.

Alexis picked up the record she’d seen through the window and waved it in David’s face. “Um, duh! Stavros wrote a song on here!”

“Stavros is a songwriter?”

“Well he, like, helped a guy write part of one of the verses.” She looked down at the record again and squealed. “Ah! I have to buy it! This is, like, fate or something.”

David started to ask if she knew what the word _fate_ meant, but thought it was probably for the best that he was interrupted by a man with the most charming smile David had ever seen.

“Hey there, I’m Patrick. Is there anything I can help you guys find?”

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest? I think we’re all set, just gonna get this one.”

“Sure, I’ll ring you up.” Alexis followed the man to the counter, David not far behind. Turned out the guy was just as attractive from the back. Maybe David could interest him in a job at another record store... 

“Feel free to stick around, by the way. Our open mic night starts in five. It’s a lot of fun. Plus, there’s drinks; that always helps, right?”

“Mm, gonna have to pass on that one-”

“Oh my god, David, isn’t that the cutest?” Alexis interrupted, and David gave her a look that said he _did_ not think it was the cutest and that he desperately wanted to leave before he had to listen to any amateur singer-songwriters embarrass themselves. “ Will you be performing, Patrick?”

“As owner and host, I am required to be the opening act.”

“Then we will stay,” Alexis said, booping his nose on each of the last three words.

David frowned. “Sorry, did you say owner?”

“I did,” Patrick said proudly, standing up a bit straighter. “This is my store.”

Well. That changed things, then, didn’t it?

“Wow, a musician and business owner. That’s, like, super impressive,” Alexis said, leaning over the counter much farther than needed to hand him her credit card and also offer him a peek down her shirt.

David ignored her, eyes fixed on the numbers displayed on the register. “Holy fuck, that’s the price for one record?”

He saw Patrick’s face fall momentarily, but he was quick to plaster on another smile, this one feeling a bit more wounded than warm. “Our prices are a little higher than what you’d see in bigger stores, but we pride ourselves on making up for that in many other ways.”

“Yeah. You’re also paying for the service. A friendly smile when you walk through the door.” David turned to find the source of the voice - a woman, presumably another employee, who unlike Patrick was not still trying to keep her expression light. “People who know what they’re doing and actually care about what they’re selling, care about their customers.”

“Please don’t let our insanely high prices deter you from coming back,” yet another employee chimed in. “I don’t think my closet organization business alone can sustain my current lifestyle.”

“They’re opening a Rose Media near here,” Patrick explained. “We’re just hoping that our customers stick with us.”

Alexis’s mouth snapped open, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my gosh, that’s so funny, we-”

David stomped on her foot. “-went to a Rose Media once in New York! Not proud of it. This place is much more… homely.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “You mean homey?”

“Yes! Mhm, homey, quaint, intimate, yeah, words like that.” David gave a half-convincing smile.

“Well, thanks,” Patrick said like he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “I’d better…” He gestured to the back of the store where a small performance area was set up.

“Right! Sure.” David cleared his throat. “Open mic night.”

Patrick headed to the stage, if he could call it that, and grabbed a guitar from the corner, ducking into it before stepping up to the microphone and flashing another one of his electric smiles.

“Hey everybody, thank you so much for coming out tonight and supporting us here at The Shop Around the Corner. It means a lot, we appreciate each and every one of you.”

David watched intently as Patrick started singing, fingers strumming the guitar strings with grace and fervor. Alexis bopped inappropriately to the subdued song that David didn’t know, kind of folksy and depressing, but he found himself enthralled by the man’s beautiful voice and the way that his face lit up as he sang. Maybe he’d send him a little more than a fruit basket when this place went under; he may be deserving of a muffin basket, or even some nice gourmet cheeses.

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _So glad that I’m not expected to help you find happiness because that is very much NOT in my wheelhouse, but what I will say is that you’re not alone - I am painfully unhappy and just choose to bury that way deep down and think about it as little as possible._
> 
> _That was supposed to be kind of funny, by the way. True, but funny. Think dark humor rather than depressed mania. I feel like email is not a medium that caters to my tone..._

\---

“Oh, it’s Mina!” Rachel informed him, waving at someone across the room. “I’m gonna go say hi, can you get me another drink?”

Patrick threw back the rest of his own cocktail and nodded. “Sure.”

They had made the trip to a gallery uptown for an exhibit of a photographer that Rachel said was “monumentally inspirational,” and while Patrick didn’t usually mind tagging along to these types of things as he was the kind of person who could carry on a conversation with almost anyone, this was one of the snobbier shows he’d attended with her, and most people didn’t look they’d give him the time of day. So he stood back, let Rachel do her thing, and took advantage of the free drinks.

As he approached the bar for the fifth time that hour, he was struck by the sight of a familiar face.

“Hey, there. Not sure if you remember me, but we met a few weeks ago at my record store.”

The man turned to him and his eyes went wide, nearly choking on his drink. “Yes! Hi. Patrick, right?”

“That’s right. Patrick Brewer,” Patrick announced, extending his hand. “And you’re…”

The man accepted his hand and gave it a firm shake. “David.” 

David, as it turned out, was just as gorgeous as the first time Patrick had seen him. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his skin flawless, his eyes entrancing. The woman he’d been with at the store was beautiful too, Patrick hadn’t _not_ noticed, but there was something about David that sparked something in him.

“Good to meet you. Officially, I guess.” Patrick ordered his and Rachel’s drinks and noticed that David looked about as miserable as he did. “I take it you’re also having the time of your life tonight?”

“Mm, yes. Watered down drinks and the same picture hung fifty times on a wall - how could I not be living it up?” David thanked the bartender for his drinks by sliding a hundred dollar tip onto the bar. “Almost as much fun as your open mic night. If only your employee were here to spice things up with his unique rendition of Down Under.”

Patrick tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he tried to read David’s tone. He couldn’t tell for sure if David was slighting the open mic night or if it was all in good fun, so he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, not one of Ray’s best but also, if you can believe it, far from his worst.”

“Wow.” David cleared his throat and glanced down at the drinks in his hands. “Well, um, I need to deliver this to my boyfriend before he gets too sober, but it was lovely seeing you again, Pa-.”

“Patrick,” he supplied.

“Patrick, yep, Patrick, that’s what I was going to say.”

Just as David was turning away, an older gentleman walked by and gave him a firm slap on the back. “David Rose! Good to see you! How’s business?”

The man continued walking without waiting for an answer. “Mm, thriving, thanks so much,” David said to no one.

David Rose. _David Rose_. Patrick thought back to all the articles he’d poured over in the last month about Rose Media’s big expansion, about how CEO Johnny Rose was dominating in the states and how his son David Rose was heading up the Canadian initiative, starting with Toronto.

“Wait a second.” Patrick reached out and caught his arm, stopping him. “David Rose? As in, Rose Media?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me?” David asked in a rhetorical way that said he very much knew that everyone had heard of him.

“So when you said you visited a Rose Media once, by that you meant you own them, including the one just down the street from me.”

“Yes, did I neglect to mention that?” Patrick had thought David, who had so clearly been avoiding disclosing his last name to Patrick, would shy away now that his secret was revealed, but somehow he was just growing more confident by the second.

“So, what, you were spying on me?” He felt betrayed, and he wasn’t sure why. Patrick had met this guy once, very briefly; he owed him nothing. And yet he couldn’t help but feel like he had pulled one over on him.

“I’m sorry, _spying_ on you?”

“We’re your competition, right?”

“Mm, hardly.” David swirled his drink, the ice clinking against the glass, his rings catching the bright lights above. “Trust me, I had no intention of going into your store; my sister dragged me in and didn’t think twice about you being our _competition_.” He drew out the last word, sounding gratingly condescending, and chuckled. 

It made Patrick’s blood boil.

He was deciding whether he should be the bigger man and walk away or say what was really on his mind (and, thanks to the one too many whiskey sours he’d had, the latter was winning out) when Rachel swooped in with a smile and a hand on the small of his back.

“Babe, did you see the ones on the back wall? Stunning.” She caught Patrick’s scowl and followed his gaze to David. “Oh, sorry, hi. I’m Rachel.”

“David Rose.” David shook her hand, and maybe it was just in Patrick’s head but the smile he flashed her felt patronizing, like he could see that she, like Patrick, wasn’t one of _these_ people.

“Oh, wow, _the_ David Rose!” she repeated, almost like she was _impressed_ or something.

“Yep,” Patrick confirmed, tight-lipped.

David shot Patrick a smug grin.

“David.” The three of them looked to the source of the voice: a tall, attractive guy who was approaching them, looking irritated. He had on a white t-shirt with holes in it, which Patrick supposed was meant to be fashion, and his hair looked like effort had been put into making it look messy. 

“You’re doing a terrible job of pulling me away from people after their allotted time,” he said in a low, almost sultry voice when he arrived at David’s side. “Forty-five seconds, we talked about this, Jesus.”

“Oh, wow, you’re Sebastien Raine!” Rachel breathed, eyes wide and sparkling. 

Patrick would not use ‘oh, wow!’ in reaction to either of these people and yet here Rachel was, just positively _taken_ with both them. It was nauseating (... as were the one too many whiskey sours).

“Guilty,” Sebastien said, and Patrick could practically hear the narcissism in his voice.

Rachel offered her hand and shook Sebastien’s firmly and confidently. “I’m Rachel Shaw, I’m a photojournalist-”

“Yeah, I’ve seen some of your work in the Star. You’re good.” 

“Sebastien Raine likes my work. That is unreal. I’m actually working on putting together a gallery show right now on Toronto’s poverty.”

Sebastien squinted like he was envisioning it as he swayed from side to side. “That’s so great, yeah, I think you could find a real sexiness in that, show the romantic side of it that’s so often overlooked.”

This guy could not be serious.

“Not exactly the direction I was planning, but it’s interesting-”

Patrick cleared his throat loudly. “Rach, I think we’d better go.”

He’d had enough of David Rose and Sebastien Raine for a lifetime. 

“Patrick, don’t be rude, I’m talking to Sebastien Raine.”

“And I am on the job of pulling Sebastien away from people. Forty-five seconds max, right?” David forced a smile. “Good seeing you again, Patrick.”

“Likewise,” he replied through gritted teeth.

David fucking Rose.

\---

“Are you giving me the silent treatment?” Rachel asked as they turned down the bed. “It’s hard to tell whether you’re in one of your moods or if you’re actually mad at me.”

“It was just a long night, okay?”

It hadn’t been, really; they had cut their night short thanks to the appearance of David Rose, and while Patrick knew that that hadn’t been fair to Rachel, he just couldn’t force himself to spend one more second in that room with those people.

“So you’re not angry that I was chatting with Sebastien Raine?” Patrick stayed silent as he pulled on his pajama pants, and Rachel rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what the problem was.”

“Maybe I’m a little upset that you were getting all chummy with the enemy.”

“The enemy? Really? Can you please be an adult about this? And I wasn’t even talking to David Rose, I was talking to Sebastien.”

Patrick tossed his shirt on the floor and made work of fluffing his pillows so he wouldn’t have to look at Rachel. He knew she had a point, and his rational side was telling him to concede so they could just go to sleep and move on, but his rational side was not winning out tonight.

“They both seem like jerks, anyways.”

Rachel glowered at him. “Well, aren’t we judgemental today?”

“Of the guy who wanted to romanticize poverty? Yeah, a little bit. And you were just going to go along with it like it wasn’t the most fucked up idea you’ve ever heard?” 

“How would you know? You pulled me out of there before I had a chance to respond!”

Patrick was ready for this argument, ready to accuse her of selling out, ready to tell her how embarrassing it was that she was spellbound by _that_ asshole. But instead, he pulled the blanket back up on his side of the bed and moved toward the door, not wanting to stick around to find out how much worse this fight could get; not wanting to say something he knew he would regret.

“What, you’re not coming to bed?” Rachel asked, making no attempt to hide the irritation in her tone.

“Not tired.” Patrick stormed out of the room and spent the night on the couch, attempting to forget Sebastien Raine’s overrated photographs and David Rose’s smug face.

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _Do you ever wonder if you’re a good person? Or a nice person, for that matter? Don’t get me wrong, most of the time I’m proud of how cold I can be, but sometimes I find myself actually caring the slightest bit. Like, why am I an asshole? Just because I’m good at it? Is that not a good enough reason? Probably not, huh?_
> 
> _You’ve made me a more introspective person and I don’t love it FYI._

_\---_

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _You’re welcome!!!_
> 
> _I like to think that I’m a good person, and a nice person. Although there are definitely times that I let my anger get the better of me. We’re all human, right? I’m sure deep down you’re a good person. I know that you are. You’re always nice to me._
> 
> _Okay, maybe nice isn’t the right word. Still thinking about the time you told me I should never speak again because I prefer Stevie Nicks to Madonna. But you are good, I know that. You’re caring, even when you don’t want to admit it, and you listen to me whine about my problems. Unless you’re paying someone to read and respond to those emails, in which case I really wouldn’t blame you._
> 
> _By the way, I think we should meet._
> 
> _(If you weren’t a good person, would I have said that? Not a chance.)_

Oh.

Meet.

This person thought they should meet each other.

David’s pulse quickened. No. They would not be doing that. There was a reason that one of the only people in the universe who actually liked David had an entire world wide web between them. And who knows what could happen if they took that away.

Sure, David loved to imagine them going out for lunch and B finding it charming when David would steal all of his fries after only ordering a salad and insisting it would be enough for him. Yes, it was nice to think about them sharing an umbrella as they ran back from lunch in the pouring rain to David’s apartment, soaked and laughing and happy. And it was fun to wonder what would happen after, when they got into the apartment and out of their soaking clothes.

So yes, in theory, David would love to meet him. But in reality, he knew that he would probably drive B away before all the leaves had a chance to fall from the trees. He knew that if they met, he would manage to mess things up somehow. And he wasn’t ready to lose him yet.

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _If we were to meet, I think your mind would quickly change on me being a good person. I like you. I like what we have. So much. I don’t think we should ruin it._

_\---_

Typically, Patrick refused to glance at Rose Media as he walked by it, like it was some sort of valiant protest, but this time a new poster in the window caught his eye.

**ROSE MEDIA CONCERT SERIES**

“Unbelievable,” he said to himself. Sure sounded a lot like an open mic night. Except there was a list of performers and dates underneath, so, you know, an open mic night with only good, vetted talent. 

And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Patrick’s eyes landed on a familiar name as he was scanning the list.

**January 8th - Andy Puck**

“Shit.”

When he arrived at the store, all three of his employees broke apart from the huddle they were in and dispersed throughout the store: Ronnie fiddling with the credit card machine, Ray using his shirt to wipe away fingerprints on the window, and Twyla walking through the aisles, patting the records like she was commending them for a job well done.

Well, that wasn’t suspicious. “Guess you all saw the poster, then?”

“What poster?” Twyla asked as she exchanged confused looks with Ronnie and Ray.

“The one for Rose Media’s new concert series? That Andy Puck has apparently agreed to do?”

“That little snake,” Ronnie spat. “I never liked him.”

Patrick frowned, tilting his head. “You asked if you could be his roadie.”

“Well, I don’t like him now.”

Twyla perked up like she always did when she had an anecdote to share. “My mom has a friend whose cousin’s friend’s stepdaughter played a set at Rose Media recently and she said she sold a ton of records that night. And that was an impromptu thing- with advertising she probably would’ve sold way more.”

“Andy Puck did sell one record the last time he played here,” Ray said. “His mother was very happy to support him.”

“Great. Is that what you guys were whispering about when I came in or is there more bad news?”

The three of them looked at each other again before Twyla spoke up. “Ray ran the numbers.”

Patrick braced himself. “Well? How bad is it?”

“About $1500 less than the same time last year,” Ray told him.

That was a lot. Worse than he had been expecting. Sure, there had been a noticeable decline in foot traffic in the store, and he saw a couple more people than usual turn their noses up at the prices, but he thought it would just result in a difference of a few hundred dollars at most. Not this.

“Maybe it’s a fluke,” Ronnie said, but the solemn expressions around the room made it clear that no one believed that. “Okay, yeah, not a fluke.”

They were all silent, not knowing what to say, not wanting to talk about what another month with that kind of loss would mean for them.

Finally, Twyla spoke up.

“You guys, their store is new. People are going there because they’re curious, but they’ll be back here once they realize that it’s just not the same. I really think so.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if she was just trying to make them feel better or if she truly believed that; she was so positive all the time that it was hard to tell. So he just forced his face into a small smile, hoping to trick everyone, including himself, into thinking that was true. 

“I hope so.”

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Today someone asked me if Cher sang Safety Dance. I just thought you should know that._

\---

“This line is cash only.”

Patrick looked up at the cashier who was staring at his credit card like it had personally insulted her. “What? I only have a credit card.”

The cashier blinked. “There’s a sign.”

Patrick turned back to look, where there was indeed a sign, and saw the long line of people behind him, along with the long lines of people at every other register. Open mic night started in less than an hour, and he needed to get the food and drinks there and set up before then. Waiting in another 20-minute line was not an option.

“Sorry, guess I missed that,” he said in that calm, smooth voice that almost always worked to get people on his side. “But my groceries are already bagged, you went to the trouble of ringing all of that up. Can’t you just run my card?”

“Cash only.”

“Please, I’m running late and I would really appreciate it.”

His plea was met with another blank stare from the cashier.

“She said cash only. It was on the sign!” the woman behind him said briskly.

Patrick gave a short nod and moved to start putting things back in his cart when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hi. I think I can be of some assistance.”

David fucking Rose.

“I’d rather leave empty-handed.”

“This is all I’m getting,” David said, ignoring Patrick and handing the cashier a lip balm. “Add that on there and I’ll pay for it all. In cash.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Um, kind of looks like you do.”

Patrick opened his mouth to protest further, but the woman behind him sighed dramatically and he really didn’t want to continue to upset the entire line.

“It’s $375.10,” the cashier warned, like she was hoping David would balk at the total.

Patrick didn’t appreciate whatever vendetta she had against him, but he also kind of hoped David would balk.

But, of course, he didn’t.

“Not a problem.” David handed the cashier four hundred dollar bills, and Patrick felt small.

A flush crept up his face as he pushed his cart out of the store, all too aware of David hot on his heels.

“Not sure what I did to deserve such lovely treatment from you, but you’re welcome.”

“Like I said, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Just helping out a friend in need,“ David said behind him as they walked out the doors and into the parking lot, and Patrick could practically hear the patronizing smile that was surely on his face, the same one he had shown Rachel that night at the gallery.

“So, what,” David continued when Patrick refused to take the bait, “we can’t be friends just because we’re in the same business?”

This guy sure knew how to push his buttons, he’d give him that.

Patrick stopped suddenly and turned to David. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m an open book.”

“Why do you do what you do? Your store, I mean. Do you even like music? Is it really something you’re passionate about? Because if it was, maybe I’d be less pissed. Maybe I could ignore this asshole persona you’ve got going and be civil. But I get the feeling that you really don’t care about it at all.”

He looked somewhat taken aback, like he hadn’t been expecting Patrick to come out swinging, and Patrick wished he could say it gave him some satisfaction, but he was too worked up to feel the small victory.

“I don’t, really. But there’s no rule that says everyone has to be passionate about their jobs.”

“Well, there is in my book. Especially if you’re going to go around hurting people who are actually passionate about their work.”

David shrugged. “It’s nothing personal. Just business.”

“Right,” Patrick scoffed. “Business.”

\---

David walked into his apartment, drained from a day full of meetings, and nearly tripped over a suitcase that sat just inside the door. He picked it up and leaned it against the wall - it was heavy, what the hell was in there? - and tried to recall Sebastien telling him about any travel plans, but he came up blank.

When he entered the bedroom he found Sebastien shoving a handful of t-shirts into a duffel bag. “Hi. What’s going on?”

“Oh. Hi,” Sebastien said with a quick glance over his shoulder. “Uh, I’m packing.”

“I can see that. Where are you going?”

“Back to New York, for now. Then I’m thinking maybe Budapest.”

David gulped. “For how long?” he asked, feeling like he already knew the answer.

Sebastian zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “David. I think this city has given me all it has to offer. Time to move on.”

“Okay, and what about me?” He didn’t mean for it to sound so pathetic, so needy. He and Sebastien didn’t even get along most of the time, and he certainly didn’t love him. So why did it hurt so much that he was leaving him behind?

“I think we’ve given each other all we have to offer, too.” He rested his hand tenderly on David’s cheek. “Time to-”

“Move on, yeah, right, got it.” David pulled away, the touch causing his voice to quiver in a way he was so not okay with.

“I gotta go, my cab’s out front.”

This was the quickest breakup he’d ever gone through, by far, and that was including the time Heather Graham had yelled her ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech to him as she sailed away on her yacht. It was a lot to process; this, not the yacht breakup - that one had been very anticipated.

“I’m home early…” David realized as Sebastien was walking out the door. “Were you just going to leave without telling me?

“Just figured it’d be easier,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “ I know how you can get.”

“So you were going to break up with me, but not tell me,” David said, and god, seriously, why was his voice doing that?

“Jesus, breaking up is such an antiquated concept. We were together, and when I leave, we won’t be. It doesn’t change our emotional bond. I’ll move on, maybe you’ll move on. No need to put a name on everything.”

“Oh my god, yeah, please just leave.” 

And he did, and David hated himself for crying over Sebastien Raine.

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _I’ve never cared much about Christmas, to be honest. My family always hosted a ridiculous Christmas Eve party that never ended well, and then most years I would spend Christmas alone. Including this year. I may or may not have been dumped recently, so I get to spend Christmas drinking and sulking in my big empty apartment. Not unlike how you and I met, actually. But this time maybe if I spend the day writing to you, I won’t feel so alone._
> 
> _Also,I just find Christmas imagery to be very disturbing. Santa Claus?? Are you telling me I’m not supposed to find that whole concept super creepy????_
> 
> _Side note, I had a small role in a Christmas movie once, back in my child acting days. And no, before you ask, I am not the kid from A Christmas Story._

_\---_

Patrick sipped his eggnog and stared at the lights on his tree, the internet dial-up sounds nearly drowned out by the Christmas music coming from his record player. He was still in his pajamas, his hair sticking out at a few weird angles, his bare feet cold against the hardwood floor.

He had lucked out, he thought, and as soon as he thought it he realized how horrible it sounded - but Rachel’s parents were going to visit her brother in London for Christmas, and his own parents had gotten a great deal on a cruise that left Christmas Eve, so that meant that they had no official Christmas obligations. Rachel had a few friends in the city who also weren’t spending the day with family, so after she and Patrick had breakfast and exchanged gifts, and with reassurance from Patrick that it was more than okay and he was excited to lie around and watch Die Hard, she left to celebrate with them.

He had thought about turning on Die Hard, just so it felt like a little less of a lie, but he didn’t think he deserved to ease his conscience. He should feel guilty about what he was doing, as evidenced by the flutter he felt when he saw that A was online.

> **Brewski317: You can’t just say you were in a Christmas movie and not tell me what one.**
> 
> **Brewski317: You know I love Christmas movies.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: That would be far too much personal information, I think._
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: What are you doing here?_
> 
> **Brewski317: I didn’t want you to be alone on Christmas.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: That is very sweet._
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Be honest, you had nothing better to do, right?_
> 
> **Brewski317: Nothing I’d rather be doing, that’s for sure.**
> 
> **Brewski317: Besides, I’ve been stressed lately, and I don’t want to be stressed on Christmas. Talking to you helps,**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Stressed about what?_
> 
> **Brewski317: Work stuff. Life stuff.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: I've been known to give decent advice once in a blue moon. And all the advice I've given lately has been terrible, so I’m due to give out something good._
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: What kind of work do you do?_
> 
> **Brewski317: No personal details, remember? Besides, I think I'm past the point of help on that front. Might just be time to let things go.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Sounds to me like you don’t want to let things go, so maybe don’t? That’s all the advice I've got from that smidgen of detail._
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: How about life stuff?_
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Still just content rather than happy?_
> 
> **Brewski317: Exactly.**
> 
> **Brewski317: Actually, not sure I’m even content anymore…**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Then you probably already know what you need to do._
> 
> **Brewski317: Even if it means hurting someone I care about?**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Yes. I think so._
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Although I once started dating my sister’s best friend, then mostly unintentionally destroyed their friendship (long story), then broke up with her and proceeded to steal my sister’s boyfriend so I may not be the best person to ask._
> 
> **Brewski317: Well thanks for the attempt.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: My pleasure._

They chatted for hours about nothing and everything; about their Christmas traditions, whether chicken and waffles was breakfast or dinner, what Christmas song was the best of all time, why adults insisted on wrapping gifts, what the best kind of pie was, what kind of people named their kids things like Chastity or Lucky or Destiny or Happy and what kinds of pressure that would put on those kids for the rest of their lives.

It was fun and it was easy, and Patrick never wanted it to end.

\----

Johnny had insisted that David be ‘hands-on’ in the store. David had at first flat-out refused, then eventually turned to lying, but now he was sure that his dad had spies or something in the building because somehow he knew that David wasn’t actually personally walking through the store hourly like he claimed to be doing. 

So it was entirely his father’s fault that as soon as he started implementing his routine walkthroughs (weekly, not hourly because, come on), he came across Patrick Brewer.

Patrick was strolling through the aisles, scanning the rows of vinyls with his hands shoved in his pockets. David ducked behind a shelf quickly before Patrick had a chance to notice him, and he only felt slightly creepy watching Patrick from his hiding place.

Next to Patrick, another customer approached an employee who had what David could only describe as a very unfortunate Flock of Seagulls haircut.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a record my dad used to listen to when I was a kid. It had a picture of, like, a monkey or something eating cake on a beach?”

“Uhhh…” Flock of Seagulls looked very lost. “Maybe it’s by the Monkees?”

David saw Patrick roll his eyes before chiming in. “It’s one of Fleetwood Mac’s earlier ones. Called Mystery to Me.”

Flock of Seagulls blinked slowly “Oh. Check under the Fs then.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, turning away from the employee and directing her attention instead at Patrick. “Shot in the dark, but you wouldn’t happen to know another one that had these cartoon superhero guys on the cover? I think it was a British rock band.”

“Probably Shazam by The Move,” he answered without missing a beat. “Popular in the UK but kind of obscure over here.”

“Yes, that was it! Oh my gosh, you’re like an encyclopedia,” she remarked as she went to hunt for the records, turning back to call over her shoulder, “You deserve a raise!”

“But you don’t even work here,” Flock of Seagulls said, and David watched Patrick pat his shoulder and walk away.

Maybe Patrick wasn’t so bad after all, David thought. Perhaps he had accepted his fate and was checking out his potential new employer. David might even give him an interview if he asked nicely; he was thoroughly impressed.

And he made a mental note to fire Flock of Seagulls ASAP.

\---

_“I’m here with Patrick Brewer, owner of the record store The Shop Around the Corner, which is on the verge of closing its doors forever thanks to Rose Media coming into town. The conglomerate, which used to be a movie rental business but has been working on expanding in the last year, has put a significant dent in the pockets of small business owners.”_

“He can’t be serious,” David said, staring at the TV in the corner of his office. Stevie had rushed in and told him to turn on channel 19, and he was greeted with the sight of Patrick Brewer, looking exceptionally good in a green sweater and black jeans, on the local news. “He really thinks this is going to save his business?”

Stevie cocked her head to the side. “He’s determined, gotta give him that.”

_“I worked at a Rose Video in high school, and I can tell you with certainty that they don’t care about their customers like small local businesses do. And that’s more true than ever now that they’re expanding. If you’ve been inside one of these Rose Medias, you know exactly what I mean. The employees don’t know anything about what they’re selling, and they don’t care. All that matters to them is your money.”_

Stevie’s eyes widened “He worked at a Rose Video? Did you know that?”

“I did not.”

_“I’ve also met David Rose, who runs the Toronto branch of Rose Media, and he himself admitted that he’s not passionate about the store at all - he’s just passionate about the money it puts in his pocket.”_

“You said that to him?” Stevie asked, eyes closed in a mix of frustration and disbelief.

David winced. “Not exactly that, but I think he got the gist right.”

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Now you’re just putting words in my mouth. I NEVER said that fried bologna was a delicacy._

\---

Patrick tapped his foot, gazing out the store window at the people passing by. He, Twyla, and Ronnie were all fidgeting anxiously while Ray was in the back running the numbers from the previous month. This was it - if there wasn’t a marked improvement, they were out of options. Patrick had told them after Christmas just how bad things were looking, just how close they were to closing, and they had all rallied together, supporting each other, brainstorming new ideas; it was nice, and it would just make saying goodbye that much harder if it came down to it.

Patrick felt more than heard Ray enter the room. When he looked at him, Ray didn’t say a word, just shook his head, and it was the first time Patrick had ever seen him at a loss for words.

Patrick nodded. He’d known it was coming. He’d hoped that his run through the news circuit would have done more, bought them another 6 months maybe, but he was a realist with a business degree - he knew what a longshot it had been.

“I quit,” Twyla announced, and Patrick was a bit disheartened that even she had accepted defeat.

“I know. It’s over.”

“No, I mean, I quit. I’ll still come in and help out sometimes, you know how much I love being here, but I won’t have a set schedule - I’ll just pop in when I feel like it, and you won’t need to pay me. Without my paycheck, maybe we can see what March brings before closing the doors?”

Patrick furrowed his brow. “No, Twyla, I could never ask you to do that.”

“It’s okay, I make enough at my waitressing job alone to stay afloat for a while. Besides, I still have some money leftover from the lawsuit with that zookeeper,” she said, and Patrick was afraid to ask for more details. “Anyway, I just can’t bear to see this place go down without giving it everything we’ve got.”

Patrick hugged her tightly, turning around when he heard a sniffle behind him.

“Ronnie?”

She sniffled again, dabbing at her eyes with her wrist. “We’re just a really good team, okay? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _My dad took me to a Yankees game when I was 10 and in the last period I got hit in the face with a bad ball (you know, when they hit it and it doesn’t count because it bounces off a little kid’s face instead of the grass???). Also it was the most boring 3 hours of my life. So while I respect that you love the baseball, just know that I will never understand it._
> 
> _The good news is that the ball to the face actually made my nose look slightly better, so it held me over until my parents finally let me get rhinoplasty a few years later._

\---

“So? What’s wrong?” Stevie asked as she plopped down on David’s couch, glass of wine in hand.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong?” He took one last pull from the joint Stevie had so kindly supplied and looked for a place to put it, a place that did not require him to get off the couch; he settled on setting it atop Stevie’s gloves that she had tossed on his coffee table.

“You asked me to come over with 4 pints of ice cream and all the weed I had. Something’s wrong.”

“I also recall asking you to bring dinner, which I do not see,” he said. Steve mouthed ‘dinner’ as she pointed to her wine and took a big swig, and David huffed. “It’s my internet guy.”

“A guy needs to come fix your internet?”

“No, the guy I’m talking to online.” He tucked his bare feet under Stevie’s thighs.

“Oh, right. That guy. You’re still talking to him?”

“Yes, we are _thriving_ , thank you very much.” David chewed his lip, preparing to admit the dilemma he was faced with. “And I’ve been very theoretically thinking about what it might be like to meet with him.”

“Oh my god.” Stevie swatted his shin with whatever enthusiasm she had left after two joints and three glasses of wine. “Does he want to meet with you?”

Yes. At least, David hoped he did. B would drop subtle hints here and there, like ‘I wish I could see the look on your face’ or ‘I would definitely hug you right now if I were there’ or ‘I would pay good money to see you in a Hawaiian shirt,’ but there was a chance that David was reading too much into them.

“He put it out there months ago so I’m choosing to tell myself that he still wants to.”

“ _Months_ ago?” Stevie was yelling now, and David wondered where she found the energy to be that loud.

“Like, October.”

“ _October_?” Still yelling. “Holy shit. And you said no.”

“Obviously.”

“But… you want to meet him.”

“I do,” David admitted. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to touch him, just rest his hand on his arm or run his fingertips over his jaw, just to feel that he was real. He couldn’t stop thinking about how badly he wanted to watch him smile, and to know he was the one responsible for putting that smile on his face. And, god, he wanted to hear him laugh, even if it was at David’s expense because he was being ridiculous or dramatic and B would tease him and they would laugh together and David knew he would just melt.

“But… you’re worried that he won’t be who you think he is?”

“No,” he said, voice small and hesitant. “I’m worried that I won’t be who he thinks I am.”

Stevie looked at him, a little blank, a little sad - it was the look she always gave him when he mentioned something fucked up about his past or about his family or about his exes or, apparently, his self-worth. She usually didn’t know what to say; just gave him the look and poured him another glass and stayed with him, and that was more than David had gotten from any of his other friends, so it was more than enough.

But this time, she leaped from the couch and darted to his computer.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he stumbled over to her, drunk and high and not all that coordinated to begin with.

“Messaging him.”

“What? No!”

She looked up at him earnestly as she waited for the internet to connect. “David, I know you don’t believe this, and I don’t really enjoy admitting it to you, but you’re not a completely horrible person.”

“Um, thanks?”

“And he already likes you. Meeting you won’t change that.”

“You say that with way too much confidence.”

David knew better. David had disappointed too many people in his life to think this would be any different. 

But Stevie was on a mission, and David wasn’t really trying all that hard to stop her, because he was an idiot and this may have been exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d invited her over.

“What’s his screenname?”

David pursed his lips. “I call him B,” he said, face pinched, thinking now that maybe it would be better to do this on his own and spare himself the humiliation of telling Stevie that he was falling head over heels for a frat boy.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Brewski317,” David mumbled.

Stevie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Is that a joke?”

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I think we should meet if you’re still interested. Name the time and place._

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Thought you’d never ask. Friday, 8pm, Cafe Lula. Look for the guy with the gift. I’ll put a big red bow on it or something. See you soon._

\---

“Do you see him?”

David stood on the street in front of Cafe Lula, back to the door and shoulders slumped in an attempt to be inconspicuous. Stevie stood on her tiptoes a few steps up, craning her neck to peer through the windows, being far _too_ conspicuous in David’s opinion, but he was too excited to care.

“Oh wow, that guy is fucking hot.”

“He is??” David pressed, not that he cared _that_ much; Stevie was mostly here to make sure that the guy wasn’t eligible for the senior citizen discount or tattooed from head to toe in lizard scales or something. But if he was attractive, David certainly wasn’t going pretend that that wasn’t a major perk.

“Yeah. No present though.” She looked at him with a straight face just to relish in the satisfaction of his frustration.

“Ugh!” David waved his hands, telling her to turn back around and do her job.

“Hang on, hang on. Okay, now this guy definitely has something with a bow on it in front of him.”

“And??” 

“Hold on, the waiter’s blocking him- oh my god.”

“What? Oh my god good or oh my god bad?” David’s voice was shrill and panicked and he was pretty sure he was scaring people who were walking by.

“Um, that depends,” she said, still staring through the window. “ What do you think of that record store guy?”

“What? What record store guy?”

“The one you’re unnecessarily petty with. The Shop Around the Corner?”

“Patrick Brewer? My guy looks like Patrick?” David would be lying if he said he hadn’t found himself thinking about Patrick’s attractiveness from time to time, so this was news he could get behind. If Stevie was fucking with him again, he was going to personally rip her head off. “ That would be very okay.”

“Well, that’s good.” She finally turned to look at him, eyes round and mouth pulled tight. “Because it is Patrick Brewer.”

“ _What?_ ” David scrambled up the steps and snuck a look for himself. Sure enough, there sat Patrick Brewer, wearing a navy blazer over his usual light blue button-down, hands folded on the table, looking nervous and eager.

“Oh my fucking god.”

And in that moment, David’s world was completely turned upside down in a way he’d never thought possible. His brain tried to connect the two, the friend he knew deeply online and the… acquaintance he’d run into a handful of times. Thinking about it made dizzy, but honestly, it did make some sense. Patrick Brewer and Brewski317, in addition to _that_ now glaringly obvious connection, were both smart and quick-witted and funny, both loved music in a big, passionate, endearing way, both knew just how to push David’s buttons (one in a more light-hearted way than the other, but still), and both seemed to enrapture David whenever he was in their presence, be it in person or on the internet. 

For a moment, David let himself be thrilled that it wasn’t some creepy old stranger and instead was someone he knew and even somewhat, in a very backwards way, admired.

But that relieved feeling didn’t last long, and soon it was replaced with the realization that no part of Patrick would be relieved to find this out. Revealing this to Patrick would be revealing that the person he thought he could trust, the person he had talked to every day for the past 6 months who he thought was caring and charming and thoughtful and _good_ , was actually none of those things. 

David had been so afraid of meeting B because he was afraid he would disappoint him, let him down in some way like he always did. But it turned out he already had. 

He sat down on a bench and put his head in his hands, breathing heavily. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Stevie sat next to him and put a hand on his back, and when he looked up at her she cringed. “God, I’ve never seen you look this pale.”

“It is _not_ okay, Stevie. Patrick Brewer _hates_ me. We’ve been nothing but rude to each other. Nothing about this is okay.”

“Okay, but from everything you’ve told me about the times you talked to him, you were _both_ assholes. Maybe he’ll feel bad too and it’ll just, like, cancel each other out.”

David thought back to the first time they’d met, when Patrick had greeted him with a warm smile and David had turned up his nose. He thought back to Sebastien's show, when Patrick had tried to make small talk and David couldn’t go two seconds without saying something belittling. 

He thought back to B’s email in which he reassured David that he was a good person.

Yeah. Right.

“No, he was nice and I was me. I made fun of his harmless little open mic nights and basically told him his store was pathetic and bound to fail.”

“Yeah… I really want to tell you that he’ll forget all that once he realizes you’ve actually been secret friends this whole time, but you are putting him out of business, so he might actually hate you more once he finds out. Like you took away his business _and_ his best friend.”

“Thank you so much, Stevie. Really helping the panic attack I’m having right now.”

“I’m sorry.” And David knew she was, because neither of them were ever very good at this whole comforting thing but they did their best. “What are you gonna do?”

“Fuck!” All he wanted in that moment was to make B happy. To make _Patrick_ happy. And none of his options would yield that outcome. “Nothing. I’m going to do nothing.”

“You’re not going in?”

“No! You’re right; if he finds out it’s me, everything ends. And that’s not what’s best for either of us.”

“But if you stand him up, it might end too.”

That was probably true. Although if he came up with a good excuse, B would probably forgive him. But David didn’t want to lie to him. “I know. But I think it will hurt less.”

Stevie nodded and stood, tucking her chin into her scarf. “You wanna share a cab?”

David thought about it, figured he should just go home, eat an entire pizza, pop a few pills, and cry himself to sleep. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“No. I’m just going to stay here. Make sure he’s… okay.”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

David sighed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Stevie just stared at him incredulously. “David Rose. You care about another person.”

“Ugh.”

“When you said not telling him would hurt less… I thought you meant it would hurt _you_ less, but you meant him, didn’t you?” she concluded, her mouth agape. “ Holy shit!”

“Stop saying it like that!”

“Wow. This is really messy.”

“Goodbye, Stevie.”

Stevie drew a heart with her fingers as she walked away, and David mustered up the courage to enter the cafe. 

Patrick’s head shot up as soon as the door opened, and David gathered that he had probably done that every time someone had walked in since he’d arrived, hoping it would be Dav- no, hoping it would be A. His face when he _did_ see David was anything but hopeful. 

It hurt David almost as much as the gift that was sitting on the table.

> _Arosebyanyothername: I can’t believe I’m doing this but I today was my 34th birthday and it hit me much harder than expected. So I drank a bottle of champagne, ate an entire cake, and sat alone in my dark apartment crying to Joni Mitchell. And now I’m here. I’m very sorry._
> 
> **Brewski 317: Never apologize for listening to Joni. You already rank high in my book just for that. Although, which album you’re listening to will determine just how highly you rank.**
> 
> _Arosebyanyothername: Ladies of the Canyon. Only because my copy of Blue has been played to death. Literally. It’s unsalvageable._
> 
> **Brewski317: Blue was definitely the correct answer. Shame on you for not having an extra copy on standby.**

There, wrapped in a big red bow, was Blue by Joni Mitchell. David approached the table, eyes fixed on the record until Patrick spoke.

“A city this big and I still can’t seem to escape you.”

“That’s very fortunate for you,” David said, not sure if he should be snarky or genuine and somehow not landing either.

“Uh huh.” Patrick was annoyed to see him, obviously, but less so than usual at least. Like even David’s presence couldn’t put a damper on his plans for the evening. “Well, I’m actually waiting for someone, so if you don’t mind.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” David took a seat at the adjacent table, facing Patrick, and ordered a tea from the waiter.

Patrick was glaring at him. “Really?”

“What? It’s a small place. Don’t mind me,” he told him, once again his tone totally not landing.

David watched him out of the corner of his eye as the minutes ticked by. Patrick seemed to grow increasingly restless, and increasingly despondent. And David felt helpless; A was never going to walk through that door, and Patrick had no idea, and there was nothing David could do about it. 

So forty-five minutes after their set meeting time, he got up and took a seat at Patrick’s table.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asked, straightening up from the slumped position he had slid into.

“Keeping you company while you wait.”

“You finished your tea 20 minutes ago.”

David shrugged. “I just- I don’t want to go home,” he said, finally expressing a genuine sentiment with success like an actual person.

Patrick’s brow twitched, and he didn’t argue any further, just checked his watch for the hundredth time.

“I’m sure whoever was supposed to meet you has a very good reason for not being here.”

“Yeah, like he didn’t want to see me,” Patrick sighed, looking broken, and David felt like someone was squeezing the life out of his heart, made all the worse by the fact that he was the one who’d made Patrick feel this way.

He wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that at all, that he wanted to see him more than Patrick could ever imagine, but instead he just said, “I can’t imagine anyone standing you up without a good reason.”

Patrick eyed him suspiciously, searching his face for signs of sarcasm. “Why are you being nice?”

“Because you’re upset.”

A sad laugh escaped Patrick’s mouth. “Yeah, well, for once it’s not your fault.”

But it was. More than ever.

David cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself. “I see you brought a present.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Joni Mitchell is not nothing.”

Patrick quirked a brow. “Thought you didn’t know anything about music.”

“I may not know the name of every record in my store but I still have taste,” he said, a little lighter, hoping that Patrick would strike up a conversation about music with him and they’d talk and laugh and forget all about A.

But Patrick didn’t, just raised his chin slightly in acknowledgment and directed his attention out the window, searching the streets.

“How much longer are you going to wait?” David asked gently.

Patrick sighed and stood, pulling out his wallet to pay for tea he hadn’t touched.

“I can get it-”

“I told you before, David. I don’t need your money. Or your pity.”

Patrick threw down enough to cover both of their tabs and hurried out the door, looking defeated.

\---

“Well?” Ronnie asked as soon as Patrick entered the store. 

Three pairs of eyes were on him, waiting with bated breath. He had told them all about his plans for Friday night and promised to give them a full report Monday morning.

Of course, he thought he would be reporting something much less bleak.

“He didn’t show. And I haven’t heard from him since.”

“He stood you up? That asshole.”

“Maybe something happened to him! Maybe he got hit by a bus or something,” Twyla said optimistically.

“Yeah... maybe got stuck in an elevator,” Ronnie added, not sounding like she believed her own attempt at reassurance.

“I heard on the news that a man was arrested downtown last night,” Ray chimed in. “I believe it was for murder. Maybe that was him.”

“Yes!” Twyla shouted with the snap of her finger. “I heard about that! They’re calling him the Rooftop Killer.”

“Gee, thanks, guys. You know just how to cheer me up.”

“Please tell me you didn’t sit there for too long looking all sad and pathetic,” Ronnie said, but her words lacked the bite that they usually carried.

“About an hour,” Patrick admitted. “Although I wasn’t alone for most of it. Ran into David Rose and he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Wow. How unfortunate for you, Patrick. What are the chances that when you’re at your lowest due to being stood up by a person who you were dying to meet, your least favorite person in the world would show up just to kick you when you’re down? Of all the cafes in Toronto, he just happened to walk into the exact same one at the exact same time-”

“Yeah, I know, Ray,” Patrick said sharply, and by some miracle Ray seemed to get the message, busying himself with something on the other side of the store.

“You gonna email him?” Ronnie asked when Ray and Twyla were out of earshot.

Patrick stared down at his hands and shook his head. “I think I’d rather assume he’s a serial killer than hear the truth.”

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _Hi._
> 
> _I’ve been trying to write this email for hours. The problem is, I’ve been trying to come up with a good excuse to give you, but I want to be honest, which I just… can’t be. I know this probably sounds completely ridiculous, but all I can do is ask you to trust that I wanted to be there. I really really really did._
> 
> _I feel what my friend tells me is remorse? I wouldn’t know, it’s not something I experience much. All I know is that I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry._
> 
> _I’ll understand if you feel like you can’t trust me, and just want to end things now. But I desperately hope that you don’t._

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _I was hurt. I still am._
> 
> _But I do trust you. Let’s just go back to the way things were._

Patrick swallowed around the lump in his throat and hit the ‘send’ button just as Rachel decided to stop throwing him annoyed glares and spoke up from her place on the couch.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, and Patrick would be lying if he said he didn’t experience a half a second of relief.

“What?

“I’ve been tip-toeing around you the past few days and I’m done.” She tossed her book on the cushion next to her and straightened her back. “You’ve clearly been in a bad mood, and on the rare occasion you’re not ignoring me, you’re just being a jerk. What’s going on?”

“I-” Patrick started to say that he didn’t know, or that it was nothing - his usual responses when they had these kinds of conversations, but he was tired of lying to her. “I’m not happy.”

“I know. It’s been a hard six months for the store-”

“No, Rach,” he stopped her, fighting to get the words out. “I was unhappy before that.”

Patrick clocked the moment that the realization dawned on her. Her expression grew soft, and hurt took the place of the anger that had been there before.

“What do you mean?” she asked anyway, clinging to some hope despite the fact that they’d been here so many times before. 

“We have been trying so hard for so long to make this work. Because we’re good people. And we love each other. But we shouldn’t have to try this hard.”

Her eyes filled with tears and Patrick’s heart broke. This never got any easier. “What if I want to keep trying?”

All he could do was shake his head. “I’m sorry.”

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _I didn’t say I was afraid of clowns, and I also didn’t ask for the name of the phobia, but thanks so much for that. I said Ronald McDonald specifically is creepy as fuck, and children should not be as okay with him as they are. I just think there might be some culty brainwashing stuff going on there._

\---

“I’m not saying close down the Toronto branch. I’m saying just have it go back to being a regular Rose Video.”

David couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. He sat in his office surrounded by opulent paintings and lavish decor and all the luxuries that his Rose Media money had bought him. And yet here he was, on the phone with his father, suggesting they make a business move that would without a doubt cut into profits. This was clearly some kind of alternate universe.

“David, our record and CD sales are through the roof. We’re monopolizing the industry. There is no way we’re going back.”

“That’s the problem. These places that we’re putting out of business, don’t you feel…” he grimaced, repulsed by what he was about to say, “sorry for them at all?”

“No. It’s business, son.” Just as David had heard all his life.

He hung up the phone and looked up to find Stevie standing in the doorway, gazing adoringly at him.

“Don’t.” He put a finger up in an attempt to stop whatever comments she had about what she’d just overheard.

“Oh my god,” she squeed.

“No.”

\---

_Ding ding._

Patrick checked his watch. 7:57. That would likely be the last time the bell announced the arrival of a customer. 

He’d found himself thinking that about every little thing that day. When he unlocked the door that morning, it was the last time. When he changed the receipt tape in the cash register, it had been the last time. It made it all the more morose, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it.

He walked around the corner to find David Rose standing at the front of his shop wearing a sweater that looked like it had a pillowcase glued to the front, obnoxious white sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

This would be the last time he saw David Rose in his store. That one didn’t hurt quite as much.

“Hi. Um, any chance that’s an April Fool’s joke, or maybe a novel marketing strategy?” David asked, gesturing to the sign on the door that read **CLOSING: EVERYTHING MUST GO**.

Patrick merely glared at him, jaw tight.

“Patrick, I’m only here to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Too little, too late.”

“And to tell you that I’m willing to buy up whatever is left of your inventory. At full price.”

Patrick stared at him incredulously, mouth agape. ”You cannot be serious.”

David winced. “Was that not the right thing to say?

“No. Continuously trying to pay me for things to make up for you being a shitty person is not the right thing to say.”

“Okay. Noted.” David chewed at his lips and twisted the rings on his fingers, looking unsure of what to do. “I just, I don’t know how to- I mean, the only thing I- I’ve always just-”

“Used your money to fix things instead of actually being a decent human being?” Patrick offered.

“Yes. That. But I would like to try to be a decent human being. I just don’t have much experience so no promises that I won’t fuck it up.” He pursed his lips, pushing his sunglasses up to rest atop his head as he looked at Patrick with sincerity. “I know it may have seemed like this was my goal, but I truly didn’t want this to happen.”

“You do seem more genuine than usual.”

“Thank you.”

Patrick turned his attention to the customer lingering a few feet away, a 30-something-year-old regular who wore Chuck Taylors and had two kids and always brought in fudge at Christmas-time. “All set, Marie?”

“Got some great deals on these,” she said, setting the pile of records down. “I’m going to be so sorry to see this place go. Fucking Rose Media.”

“If it wasn’t them it would’ve been someone else, right?” Patrick said, and he could feel David’s surprised eyes on him. “Think this was just inevitable.”

She scoffed. “You’re a much better sport than I would be. I hope everything works out for you, Patrick.”

Patrick expressed his thanks and finished ringing her up, his store’s official last customer. He followed her to the door, turning the closed sign behind her.

“So, that’s it, huh?” David said, voice quiet and awkward.

“Yeah,” Patrick said heavily, eyes still fixed on the sign that he would never turn to ‘open’ again. “That’s it.”

“Is it just you?”

He sniffled, waiting for the sudden welling of tears to dry up and composing himself before he turned around and walked past David. “Yep. Can’t exactly afford to pay my staff overtime.”

“I can stay and help pack up or… clean, or whatever,” David offered, his expression making Patrick think that he had likely never cleaned anything in his life.

Patrick narrowed his eyes at him. “Why?”

“Because you are a nice person, and you didn’t deserve for this to happen to you. And,” he continued, eyes darting nervously to the side, fist clenched. “I would like to be your friend.

“My friend?” Patrick chuckled with disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes,” David confirmed, and after seeing Patrick’s skeptical look added, “This is me trying, in case that wasn’t clear.”

That seemed… far-fetched, to say the least. From the moment Patrick had met him, David had never given off the slightest impression that he was interested in being friends. And yet…

For some reason, Patrick believed him. Maybe it was just because he was sad and didn’t want to be alone, or maybe it was because he wanted to believe that the person who put him out of business wasn’t horrible. Whatever it was, Patrick couldn’t put his finger on it, but for the first time ever he didn’t find himself wanting to escape the presence of David Rose.

“There’s boxes in the back,” he told him finally. “I’m donating everything.”

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _I know this probably breaks our rule of no personal details, but I’m past the point of caring and I just need to vent. I had to close my business. I’ve owned it for almost ten years, and it meant a lot to me. I developed relationships with my customers, I worked with amazing people, and I sold something I was passionate about. I really loved it. It’s been my second home for the past ten years. And now that it’s gone, I have no idea what to do._
> 
> _And on top of that, I broke up with my girlfriend a couple months ago, and I’ve been too busy with work to really notice the emptiness of my apartment. But now, it’s quiet and lonely and just me._
> 
> _Sorry to unload all of that on you. I’ve just never felt this lost, I guess._

\---

Patrick ignored the knock on his door for a full ten minutes before finally getting up.

It had been something like two weeks since the store had closed - Patrick had lost track of what day it was, and he’d spent the majority of the time drinking which only made it easier for the days to blur together. He answered his phone every once in a while, just to tell Ronnie or Twyla or Ray or his parents that yes, he was still alive and no, he did not want them to come over and that yes, he would be okay eventually, he just needed time, and they shouldn’t worry about him.

So when he opened his door he was fully prepared for it to be one of them, and not at all prepared for it to be David Rose.

“Oh, thank god. I was starting to get a little nervous you were dead and I didn’t know how long I should wait before calling 911.”

“I didn’t buzz you in.”

“I may have waited until someone let me in because I didn’t think you would answer the door if you knew it was me.”

“Probably a safe bet.” Patrick raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. “What are you doing here?”

“I am here because I assumed you were still upset.”

“Wow, you must be psychic,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“So I brought you some ice cream and an assortment of Rose Media’s newest movie releases. I thought we could maybe hang out for a bit.”

Patrick glanced down at the large tote bag David was carrying, and he could see at least five different flavors of ice cream inside. The idea that David had thoughtfully brought a variety for Patrick to choose from almost made him feel bad that he was about to turn him away. Almost.

“No offense, but I haven’t even been hanging out with my actual friends, so-”

“Which makes this easier, right? I mean, you probably don’t want your friends to worry about you so you just tell them you’re fine so they’ll stay away. But me, I am far less invested in your happiness, so it’s okay for me to see that you’re upset, because I’m not going to worry about you.”

“And yet here you are…”

“Don’t poke holes,” David said, moving to enter the apartment, and Patrick surprised himself by not stopping him.

\---

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _I’m very well-versed in sulking and wallowing, but I also feel it’s my duty as your friend to tell you that the self-pity time is just about up and we need to start thinking about what’s next for you._
> 
> _So, what are our options? If you could do anything, what would it be? I’m sure you have talents and passions and dreams other than owning a business, right? Let’s dig deep, Brewski. Open your curtains, put on some pants, and figure shit out._

\---

Patrick’s elbow rubbed against David’s as they made their way to an open bench. It was the first nice day in the past two weeks, and they took advantage of it by getting gelato and heading to a park to soak up the warm spring sun.

“You seem in better spirits today,” David observed as they sat down.

And he was. He’d spent much of April moping, only leaving his apartment when Ray or Twyla or Ronnie or even David had forced him to get out. But May had brought an opportunity to manage a bookstore, along with a side job of giving guitar and piano lessons. He and the former Shop Around the Corner Staff had weekly dinners together, David could always be counted on to offer a distraction when needed (and sometimes when not), and for the first time in a long time, he felt excited about his future.

“Actually, a friend encouraged me to get back out there and pursue what I’m passionate about so I think I might have somewhat of a plan for my future. You know, now that business owner is off the table, thanks to you.”

David hummed his response with a grimace. “So? What is it? What’s your passion?”

“This might sound stupid, but… music. I’ve always loved singing, performing, playing instruments. Might as well try making a career out of it.” Patrick shrugged, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Nothing better to do.”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” David said softly, his sincerity drawing a grateful smile from Patrick. “You know, I know some producers if you’re interested. My sister actually recorded a single for her reality series but if you write your own lyrics I’m sure it’ll turn out much better than that.”

Patrick froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah, it was called A Little Bit Alexis.”

“David,” Patrick prodded anxiously, and David smirked.

“Yes, I’m serious. I’ll get you their contact info.”

Patrick just sat there, dumbfounded and exhilarated, poking his spoon in and out of his gelato with a dopey look on his face, his dreams feeling almost within reach.

“I hate you a little less every day,” he said eventually, and David beamed.

\---

> **To: Arosebyanyothername** **  
> ****From: Brewski317**
> 
> _Yes, A, it is shocking that your job won’t let you take two months off this summer to follow Lilith Fair. Again. I am stunned. This is me, flabbergasted. The nerve!_

\---

“So, Troy tells me you guys have been in touch,” David said, biting into his slice of pizza.

It was a sweltering day, the umbrella over their table doing little to combat the harsh July sun. Patrick sat across from him, sunglasses perched atop his freshly cut hair, and David found his mind wandering to the way he’d looked on the day they’d first met - face brushed with stubble and hair just long enough that it was showing its curl. He wondered if Patrick would let his hair grow out a bit again come fall.

“Yeah, he’s actually a really cool guy. And better yet, he likes my music.”

“That’s great.”

“It really is.” Patrick sat his pizza back down on his plate and met David’s gaze, his face so honest and pure that David had to actively stop himself from leaning in and kissing him. “Thank you, David. I never thought I’d be genuinely saying that but I really owe you.”

David never thought he’d hear him say it either, and even though he knew he didn’t deserve any of Patrick’s gratitude, it gave him a small piece of hope that he might actually see him differently one day, as more than the dick who put him out of business. 

“You’re the one with the talent. Besides, I definitely owed you way more than the little favor I called in.”

“That’s true,” Patrick admitted, but he offered David a warm smile. “Man, do you ever wonder how things would be different if we had met under different circumstances? If we hadn’t been mortal enemies from the start?”

“All the time.” Patrick had no idea just how much that very thought plagued David. “I _am_ going to make it up to you eventually. I get why it’s hard for you to forgive me, but I’m going to keep trying. And I’m sure you won’t be shocked to hear that _trying_ is not something that I do often. Or ever, really.”

“I told you, David: it’s in the past.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re over it.”

Patrick took a pull from his beer, the fact that he didn’t deny it not lost on David. 

“Can I ask,” Patrick started, fiddling with the label on his bottle, “why do you care so much? I was never that nice to you either. And you didn’t even know me then. We were never friends. So why do you feel so bad about it?”

David shrugged and shook his head, unable to find the words. “I can’t explain it,” he told him honestly. “I just feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.”

\---

Patrick rubbed at his eyes; they felt gritty and dry after staring at the computer screen for so long, reading the same few sentences over and over and over.

> **To: Brewski317** **  
> ****From: Arosebyanyothername**
> 
> _You’ve been getting more personal with me lately, and I think it’s time I get more personal with you. I think I’m in love with this guy who not too long ago couldn’t stand the sight of me. And I think I’m going to finally tell him. Tonight. Wish me luck._

He’d read it slowly. He’d analyzed one word at a time. He’d gone over a million possible responses, none of which he sent. What was he supposed to say? ‘Good luck?’ That felt like too little and too much all at once, leaving his heart feeling both hollow and heavy at the same time. Maybe ‘I think it’s finally time that I tell you I’m in love with you?’ What did he expect him to do with that? Was this guy supposed to give up the love of his life because some stranger on the internet professed his love? No, there seemed to be no right way to respond. 

And maybe that was for the best. Maybe their online relationship had served its purpose and run its course, and now it was done. A would walk off into the sunset with his new partner, and Patrick would… Patrick would be okay.

Except Patrick wouldn’t be okay, because the thought of never speaking to the person who had without question been his best friend for the past year made him feel sick and he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. He couldn’t be the one to stop writing and then always wonder what could’ve been.

So there was no right way to respond, but not responding wasn’t right either. He closed out of the email and sighed, hoping that putting it out of sight for a bit would provide him with some clarity.

Frustrated and overwhelmed, he pushed back his chair and made his way across the room to open a window. It was a beautiful September day, one of the first that felt like summer was truly taking a turn into fall. Patrick relished the combination of the cool air and warm sun on his skin as he leaned against the windowsill and watched the smattering of people walk the streets below.

His eyes traveled to the steps of his building where he was very surprised to see David Rose.

What was even more surprising than seeing David was the fact that Patrick found himself feeling lighter as soon as he saw him, like a small bit of his grief over the email had been taken away. Over the past several months he and David had spent a fair amount of time together, getting together every week or two, sometimes at Patrick’s, sometimes at David’s, sometimes at a restaurant that David had been dying to try but didn’t want to go to alone like ‘some weird pervert.’

At first it was because David pitied Patrick and felt responsible for the store having to close, even after Patrick had admitted that profits were low already and Rose Media had only sped up the process. Eventually David had started saying that he wanted to get together so Patrick could help him expand his musical knowledge for business purposes, but they never seemed to talk much about music when they were together, so that excuse was faded out. After a while, they were calling each other just to simply… hang out. And Patrick, much to his chagrin, enjoyed David’s company.

Patrick leaned back a bit to make sure he was out of view and watched David fidget with the sleeves of his sweater until he finally followed someone into the building. A minute later there was a knock at the door.

He opened it to find David standing there, a large paper bag in one hand and a cactus in the other.

“You do know that I have a buzzer system, right?”

“But it’s less of a surprise that way!” David pushed past him, strolling casually into the apartment. “Chinese food and a gift. To celebrate.”

The email had thrown Patrick so off-kilter that he’d actually forgotten about the good news he’d received that morning. “Troy told you?”

“He did.” David sat his things on the counter and turned back to Patrick. “He’s flying you out to New York to record. That’s huge!”

“There’s still a lot that has to happen. I have to write enough songs for an album-”

“We both know you have enough already.”

“Then I have to record an entire album-”

“Which you will have a fucking blast doing.”

“And then that album actually has to sell.”

“It will be front and center in Rose Media stores across the US and Canada- it’ll sell.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Patrick said, but David’s enthusiasm was contagious, and he found himself leaning into the support. “But fine, it’s a pretty big deal.”

“HUGE deal!” David clapped. “So we feast. And while we feast…”

Patrick watched as David extracted more than just takeout containers from the brown paper bag.“What’s that?” 

David held the blank VHS tape in front of him, displaying it as if it were a piece of modern art. “Well, I know you love Christmas movies, so this is a terrifying TV special from back in the day called Benji’s Very Own Christmas Story, in which yours truly makes an appearance. Brace yourself.”

David moved to pop the video into the VCR, but Patrick stayed put, feet glued to the floor. David had been in a Christmas movie as a child. Why did that make Patrick feel as though the wind had been knocked out of him?

Oh, right, well sure. A had mentioned being in a Christmas movie as a child. And while that was a very weird coincidence, that’s all it was. Definitely a coincidence. Except…

Patrick’s eyes darted to the Chinese containers on his counter.

> _Arosebyanyothername: So, where’s the best place to get takeout in this city?_
> 
> **Brewski317: Well, Chinese takeout is always the best takeout, and the best Chinese food around here is the Magic Noodle House. Seriously, best by far. If I lived closer to it, I would eat it for every meal every day.**

Of course, a lot of people got Chinese takeout. That could barely even be called a coincidence. Except the white paper boxes had MAGIC NOODLE HOUSE emblazoned on the sides, and the restaurant was certainly not on the route from David’s place to Patrick’s.

“Magic Noodle House,” Patrick choked out, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

“Yes. A friend recommended it to me.”

Patrick was sure he had probably imagined the strange emphasis David had put on ‘friend.’

But then his gaze fell on the cactus and he could feel the blood rush out of his face.

> _Arosebyanyothername: A date once brought me tulips. Can you imagine?? It was so hard for me to not throw them in the trash and cancel the whole night. Needless to say, that was our second and last date. I mean of ALL the flowers in the world._
> 
> **Brewski317: How dare they!**
> 
> **Brewski317: I’ve always preferred a good sturdy cactus to flowers anyway. Much more interesting looking and, not to mention, much harder to kill.**

“David. Why did you bring me a cactus?”

“They’re hard to kill,” David said softly.

“Yeah.” Patrick’s throat was dry, and his eyes remained fixed on the plant, unable to look at David.

“And more… interesting than flowers. Aesthetically speaking.”

Patrick’s slow nod was the only response he could give. This couldn’t be real. He was projecting. He was upset that his stupid pen pal was in love with someone else, so hurt by it that he was connecting dots that weren’t really there.

Humoring himself, he thought back over the past year, looking for signs that would have had to exist, somewhere, that he had missed. No, nothing. This made absolutely no sense, and he was just crazy. Except…

Patrick had thought seeing him close the doors of his store was what struck a chord in David; once he’d actually put him out of business, he’d started to feel some remorse and suddenly changed his tune, offering to help and worming his way into his life. Even becoming his friend. But now, Patrick realized, that wasn’t quite accurate. The very first time David showed him anything resembling kindness was the night that they’d just happened to run into each other at Cafe Lula. Surely because he saw that Patrick was being stood up. 

Or because that was the night David learned that Patrick had already been his friend for months.

“Patrick,” David whispered, pleading. Pleading for Patrick to look at him, or pleading for him to put the pieces together; maybe pleading for him to not pass out at this life-changing revelation. Possibly all three.

“What’s your favorite Joni Mitchell album?”

“Ironically enough,” David said, voice thick with emotion, “the only one I don’t currently own.”

Patrick went to his nightstand and opened the drawer, pulling out Blue, still wrapped with the red bow from all those months ago.

“Was this meant for you?” Patrick asked. He was so sure, yet now that the question was out there he was terrified he’d be proven wrong.

“If you still want it to be.”

Patrick looked up, finally meeting David’s eyes. “A rose by any other name.”

David offered him a sad smile. “I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was,” he told him quietly, eyes brimming with tears.

Patrick shook his head. “You’re everything I thought you were.” 

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around the back of David’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. 

And Patrick felt everything, all at once. It was tender and passionate and intense and desperate and familiar and blinding and perfect.

This, he thought, was what it was supposed to feel like. This was happiness.

  
  



End file.
